


Water's Edge

by brainyraccoons



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cautious Idiots in Love, First Meetings, Lack of Period-Typical Homophobia, Lighthouse keeper Fitzjames, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Premature Ejaculation, Rimming, Selkie AU, Selkie Crozier, Slow Burn Speedrun, Switching, They Both Know They're Queer and They're Chill With It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27545236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainyraccoons/pseuds/brainyraccoons
Summary: Mythology and fairy tales were the last things on his mind when James Fitzjames, an accomplished naval captain, got appointed as an interim lighthouse keeper on a small island off the coast of England. As luck would have it, his innocent quest to befriend an unusual looking seal leads him to making an acquaintance with a selkie instead. Things couldn't get more unusual after that, and yet.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 22
Kudos: 52
Collections: Fall Fitzier Exchange





	Water's Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fiendlikequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendlikequeen/gifts).



The ruddy seal was around, again. James could spot it easily now, the plump reddish tail visible from behind one of the rocks. The colour and the size of the seal were the two main features clearly distinguishing it from the others whenever the whole group was resting at the rocky beach stretching at the foot of the island cliffs. It made it special, somehow.

At first he thought the seal was a juvenile, barely over half the size of the fully grown individuals within the herd, but after speaking with Pickering, one of the few shepherds who came to the small island to check up on the sheep grazing its billowing meadows, he knew that not to be the case. An adult male of a different species, perhaps lost or conveniently tagging along with the other seals for company. Always on the side-lines, sticking with the herd but never resting between the rest of the pack. Unbothered by James’ presence, it often swam close to the shore, way closer than the other seals, as James took his leisurely walks along the exposed shingle of the beach as the low tides hit.

James took a fortifying breath and started walking slowly down the cliff, gingerly picking his steps and keeping an eye on the herd as he made his descent. The old stone steps, supported with thick wooden planks in places, have definitely seen better days. The rocks were starting to chip away something awful, looking their worst since James first saw them upon taking his post as a lighthouse keeper almost a year ago. It seemed as if they were finally losing the battle with the elements, strong waves and wind battering them with every storm and high tide, taking their toll on the flimsy path down to the rocky beach. One wrong step and James would go careening down the side of the cliff, he knew as much. It didn’t stop him from going, he was determined to finally get a better look at the unusual guest among the local seal pack. He clutched the sack with the peace offering for the ruddy seal tighter and took another step down the decrepit staircase.

⚓

For his part, Francis was content with observing the lighthouse keeper from afar, resigned to never making contact with the man, despite how much he longed for human company at this point. Without clothes to wear, other than his own fur, nor a shipwreck washing ashore to use as a cover, there was simply no way he could safely step on land, not without awkward explanations and unwanted questions, and those would be the least of his troubles, he knew.

He sighed and scratched at his belly, flexing his fingers against the soft fuzz over his abdomen, the hair getting thicker the lower his hand strayed, his human body giving way to his seal tail and the thick fur covering it. It’s been a while since he allowed himself the indulgence of sunbathing half out of his animal form. The sun was simply irresistible today and he had to feel the last of the autumnal warmth on his face, soak up the sunshine before days turned grey and gloomy.

He groaned, stretching his arms up over his head and bowing his back, the rocky beach underneath him not as uncomfortable as it would have been had he shifted completely human. It felt good to be like this, having the best of both worlds. The tail kept the seals pacified, milling around him on their usual business, and he got to enjoy the gentle breeze ruffling through his hair, the colours coming to life in his human eyes the way they never quite managed when they sat on a furred snout.

“ _Oh._ ”

Francis frowned, confused by the decidedly human voice he’s heard, and opened his eyes to the lighthouse keeper standing over him. Surely, his eyes must be playing tricks on him. How did the man even get here? The beach was bordered by jagged cliffs, close to a hundred feet tall from the looks of them, although it was hard for Francis to judge the distance when he was fully transformed, his eyes better adjusted to seeing in the water than outside of it.

He blinked, opened his mouth to speak, closed it without making a sound. They kept staring at each other, unmoving, gazes locked for way longer than was necessary nor comfortable. After what seemed like hours Francis finally broke their eye contact, head thumping back against the rocks underneath him. The keeper seemed to be too stunned to do anything and Francis knew he should move, shift, run, get away from the man as fast as possible and disappear into the depths of the sea never to return, and yet he couldn’t do anything else than lay prostrate on the beach and utter one simple word at the whole ridiculous situation.

“Fuck.”

⚓

James was giddy, the seals were so caught up in soaking up the sun that they didn’t bother running away from him this time around. They might have also finally gotten used to him, after all the time he spent trying to get close to them over the past couple of months. Chilly spring days turned into sweltering heat of the summer and eased into the warm glow of autumn since his first attempt at getting anywhere close to the pack. He knew it might not have been the wisest thing to do, but he so wished to see them up close, and Pickering did say that the seals would be easy to outrun, should he need to make a hasty escape. As long as he kept away from their pups he would be relatively safe, the shepherd had said to him. James was counting on that being true.

He walked at a safe distance from the herd now, circling to the rock he saw the ruddy one sunbathing behind when he was surveying the animals from the top of the cliff, only the tail of the animal showing. It was ideal, really - he had the highest chance of approaching undetected if he wouldn’t be easily spotted. The moving seals, lapping waves, and crying seagulls covered the sound of his footsteps. He held his breath as he peered around the boulder, excited to finally see his favourite seal from only a few feet away, take a better look at its speckled back and long snout. Except there was no seal there. There was a man, and a decidedly naked one. Or so it seemed.

“Well, this is unexpected,” James muttered, at a loss for anything else to say, staring at the man who actually _wasn’t_ a man, James realised, his eyes widening comically as he took in the figure in front of him. Chest smoothly transitioning into a tail. Flippers. Whiskers. _A selkie,_ the word ran through his head, unbidden, even though none of the legends he's read or heard ever mentioned that they could be half-seal, half-human, almost like a mermaid.

The selkie was scrabbling backwards, clearly trying to get out of sight, which didn't seem like the easiest fit to do with the heavy looking seal tail in the way, slowing him down.

“Wait, don’t run! I brought you, uhm, lunch…” James furrowed his brows and looked down at the sack in his hand, very aware of how ridiculous his offer must have seemed. He brought some raw fish with him, thinking he’ll be feeding a seal, not a man. What a silly notion that has been. He berated himself for the whole idea, his grip tightening over the material in his hand. He was sure that by the time he looked up, the selkie would be gone.

“Lunch?”

James was stupefied.

“You can speak?”

“Of course I can speak, what kind of a question is that?” the selkie grumbled, huffing in irritation, but didn’t make any further moves to get away. James took a tentative step towards him, palms up, placating. He finally had a chance to properly look at the selkie, too, and _God,_ was he gorgeous. The man looked sturdy and strong, his seal tail thick and glossy, his chest and shoulders deliciously broad and covered in a spattering of freckles he no doubt got from all the time he must have spent basking in the sun with the other seals.

James licked his lips, searching for something to say, but finding himself at a loss for words when presented with such a sight. It’s been a long time since he felt so enamoured with someone so quickly. Perhaps it was some kind of magic. A charm. Something supernatural, a more appropriate explanation to such a strong and visceral attraction to another decidedly male body, even if it ended in flippers rather than feet. James knew himself to be queer, that much was clear to him, but the way he felt right now was so overwhelming he almost wished he wasn't, even if just to have a clear head while speaking with the selkie. He didn't need his dick interfering with the conversation at an inopportune moment, and right now it felt that as little as a stiff breeze could set him down a very embarrassing and inappropriate path.

“My apologies. I wasn’t expecting a, uhm,” he stuttered to a stop, his words escaping him. “Are you a selkie?”

His question was infused with wonder, he must have sounded like a little boy who found a starfish at the beach and thought it an actual star. It’s been a long time since something caught him so off guard, made him tangle his words, lose his train of thought. He felt almost delirious, the memory of being contained to his berth after he was shot running through his brain. Perhaps being shot again would have been preferable to the torture he was experiencing now. He waited for an answer with a bated breath.

“Are you dumb?” the man countered, but sighed and chuckled in what James hoped to be fond exasperation rather than irritation. The selkie was seemingly not actually cross with him for his silly question. James shot him one of his winning smiles. The conversation had a bumpy start, James would give them that, but he was hoping to turn the tide around, if the other man was amenable to doing so.

“Are you always this unpleasant?”

That was not what he meant to say. As soon as the words left his mouth James’ face went through a wide range of emotions, starting from surprise and travelling through disapproval and confusion before finally settling on utter betrayal. His brain to mouth filter was usually better, especially when he was sober, the incident with young Barrow notwithstanding. Some people brought this side of him out, it seemed. Or maybe he was just too lovestruck to think clearly.

Yes, things were going rather swimmingly.

⚓

Francis had to laugh. There was simply no other option, the look on the man’s face enough to send him into a fit of uncontrolled giggles. The last time he laughed like this he was drunk and spilling his woes to Thomas after his second unsuccessful proposal to Sophia. It’s been only a couple months since that happened but he could barely remember it, most of his thoughts now consumed by the need to hunt, eat, and rest. Time really did fly sometimes. He kept laughing at the whole affair, at himself, how foolish he had been. Finally letting all of those bottled up emotions go. It might not have been the best time to do so, judging by the clearly confused lighthouse keeper in front of him. Perhaps it was the solitude that finally made him go insane, or perhaps it was his way of coping with the hell of a situation he’s found himself in right now. At this point he couldn’t bloody tell which one was more likely.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he answered with a smile once his giggles subsided. He leaned back onto his arms, squinting through the sun and tilting his head to take a better look at the man. The lighthouse keeper was even more handsome up close. A snooty kid with a clean accent, yes, to be sure, but there was an exciting twinkle in his eyes, something tender and soft in the way he pushed his long hair behind his ear, bit at his bottom lip before speaking again.

“You don’t owe me anything. I am perfectly aware of that,” he admitted, sitting down on the shingle, seemingly unbothered by the cold nor the water still clinging to the beach, nor Francis’ earlier outburst. Interesting.

“But I assume you didn’t have many chances to speak with anyone recently,” he continued, “and I’d be happy to provide a conversation partner, should you wish to take up the offer.”

 _A conversation partner._ Francis mulled the thought over in his head. He wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to, not really. Both Blanky and Ross always urged him to talk, each in their own way, both of them knowing full well that getting things off his chest could help ease his troubled mind. He’s been feeling content on his own lately, stuck alone in his head with his thoughts and feelings, the seals his only company, but it might have been giving him a false sense of security. A man’s strength wasn’t measured in how many problems he’s avoided by running away from them, but how many he’s come across and overcome, deep down he knew that to be true. Living at sea, like this at least, wasn’t going to solve any of his issues, and perhaps it was time he dried himself off and stepped on land, faced them head on. He just didn’t know if he had the strength in him to do so. Not yet.

“Talking would be easier if I knew whom I was speaking to,” Francis said after a moment of deliberation, his voice stretching like molasses in the silence hanging between them, broken up only by the sound of the waves petting at the shore.

The other man smiled, the creases in his pretty face deepening, and Francis would be damned if anyone were to find out how endearing he’s found that particular smile. It almost made him angry, how charming it was. Having it directed straight at him was more than he could cope with.

“James Fitzjames.”

The name definitely rang a bell but Francis couldn’t quite place it. They weren’t introduced before, he was sure of that. Did he hear the name from Franklin? The elder Barrow, or Ross perhaps? Or maybe he was wrong, and this Fitzjames had nothing to do with the Royal Navy. He really hoped for that to be true. It would be easier to get to know him without Francis’ past looming over both of them like an iceberg, ready to crush a ship if it accidentally got too close.

He was offered an outstretched hand, and it took long enough for him to respond that Fitzjames started pulling it away awkwardly before Francis finally caught up with the gesture, leaning forward and grasping his hand firmly. He hasn’t touched another human in months but a simple handshake shouldn’t make his breath hitch or his heart beat faster. And yet here he was.

“Francis Crozier.”

James blinked rapidly, not letting go of his hand.

“Francis Crozier? Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, the Antarctic explorer?”

_Oh no._

“Oh. Yes.”

Francis was too stunned to come up with a lie.

“Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” James said, sounding a little breathless.

The name finally clicked for Francis. Sir Franklin, considering Fitzjames as his Second for the Arctic expedition. All matters which related to the blasted quest for the Northwest Passage were pushed to the very back of Francis' head, left there to rot, until this very moment. Francis didn't question why Fitzjames was not currently on ship, too preoccupied with the dawning realisation that if James knew Franklin, then he must have heard about Francis from him. Poor sod was probably thinking of how to get out of the awkward situation, now that he knew who Francis was - not a mythical creature, but an infamous sailor. He was hardly sought after at parties, people who have heard of him knew of his short temper and drinking habits, and steered clear away. He’s been sober for months now, which somewhat improved his moods, he had to admit, but he didn’t think James would think twice before cutting all his ties to him if Francis’ questionable fame did indeed precede him.

James still didn’t let go of his hand.

“Who would have thought I would meet _the_ Francis Crozier, and here, of all places! Incredible,” James exclaimed, smiling, finally relinquishing his hold over Francis’ fingers. Francis missed the warmth of James’ hand already.

“Yes, well,” he muttered, out of his depth. Maybe Thomas was right. Maybe people didn’t immediately think him a stupid Irish drunk, unable to hold a post, to lead men through the cold seas. Maybe it _was_ just him being too unkind to himself in moments of weakness. Or, rather, him being too caught up with what sir John has told him in no uncertain terms. What he's heard whispered behind his back, whenever people thought he was too drunk to notice. Which was a lot of the time, back then.

Before Francis knew it, he was bombarded with questions about his voyages, his friendship with Ross, his work on magnetism. James was so enthusiastic, his face shining bright with that winning smile of his, and Francis found himself talking at length about his first trip to the Arctic with sir William Parry, his findings for the Royal Society, the mischief he got up to as a midshipman. James surprised him with his own stories, his time going around the Mediterranean, then China, _a single musket ball, the size of a cherry!_ Francis was almost ashamed of his own poor storytelling upon hearing the flair and easy manner with which Fitzjames weaved his narrative, but James didn’t seem to mind, enraptured whenever Francis would throw a word or two into the conversation once it steered towards James’ own work.

To Francis’ complete surprise, they got on like a house on fire.

“And that’s how I’ve been introduced to Sir John Franklin,” James was saying, oblivious to how the mention of that name froze the blood in Francis’ veins, made him look away only to realise that the high tide has crept up on them, surrounding their little rock outcropping from all but one side now. James should leave if he were to make his way back up the cliffs safely.

“I’m sure you must know him also, Francis, and Lady Jane Franklin, bless her soul. Oh, and of course Sophia Cracroft! We’ve met only very briefly, but she seemed rather lovely.”

“Yes, she’s quite nice,” Francis said through gritted teeth, turning back to James and trying his best to relax. It wasn’t bloody happening. Guess that wound wasn’t as healed as he hoped it would be.

“Yes, indeed!” James beamed, and Francis felt the sudden urge to punch something. “I’ve heard that Sir John left for the Arctic earlier this year, the Northwest Passage again. Do you think they will manage, this time?”

“I think you’ve heard enough of my opinions for one day.”

“You’re being unpleasant again,” James complained, pouting. He tilted his head to the side, looking at Francis with a keen eye of someone who was trying to figure out which one of his innocent words could have possibly upset anyone. Francis wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of explaining himself. Not today.

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

With that, he rolled himself off the rock and into the foaming waters below. Perhaps it was overtly melodramatic, but he felt like doing so, and he was way past not allowing himself the simple pleasures in life, especially when so little was at stake. Besides, James would thank him later for saving him from being swept away by the incoming tide. Maybe if he repeated the thought enough times in his head he would believe in it himself, too.

⚓

A selkie. A _selkie!_ Like in fairytales! James still couldn’t believe it, delighted with the knowledge of the origin of the seal that’s been sticking out like a sore thumb among the pack ever since he first saw the herd back in spring. He hoped Francis would warm up to him soon enough, despite their sudden parting. He wanted to hear all the stories, both about what it was like to live in a seal’s skin, but also his voyages to the polar regions. The latter was perhaps even more interesting than the former, the longer James thought about it. Who could have known the seal was actually a sailor, and of such a high caliber, too!

He didn’t feel so alone, so adrift, now. Being a lighthouse keeper had slowly started to wear him out. The solitude was much appreciated at first, giving him time to think and puzzle back his scattered thoughts and feelings, to make a new plan for the future, but as the days grew shorter and shorter with the oncoming winter he has found himself lacking for company to fill the long autumn evenings. He had until May next year to sort himself out, until the administration had found a proper, permanent keeper for the island, and he had to make do until then. The post had been a miracle, really; he’ll be forever grateful to Charlewood for that, despite how much work it entailed. It was exactly what he needed after the mess with the younger Barrow. Somewhere far from society to wait things out. Physical work to occupy himself with. Enough downtime and beautiful views to practice with his watercolours.

He was so lost in thought while walking up to his lighthouse that he tripped not once, not even twice, but _three times_ , almost falling down the cliff. He hasn’t felt this lightheaded and unsure on his feet since his first crush at the age of fifteen. The other boy let him down gently while at the same time teaching him how to hide himself, find the right signs in others, approach people only when he was sure they were of the same mind. It was done with smiles and half-whispered confessions and mischief, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was the most carefree he’s been since joining the Royal Navy, and even now, at thirty two, there weren’t many other points in his life when he felt as happy nor as deeply understood as he did back then. The summer he spent in Lisbon that year felt like a lifetime ago.

It didn’t take him long to find another suitable moment to steal away to the beach a couple days later, this time with a more appropriate offering. Bread, eggs from the hens he kept in a paddock adjacent to his little cottage and which have been the pride of the previous keeper, or so he’s been told. Ham. A pitcher of water. Apple pie he made the day before, as a treat. Also because the apples Pickering gifted him with were starting to spoil, he couldn't eat them fast enough. It was more than would be needed to feed a whole family, but no matter how much he argued with the shepherd, he couldn’t convince him to take some back to the mainland after making his delivery.

He was quite proud of the contents of his picnic basket, hoping Francis would appreciate them, too. Perhaps it would be enough to coax more stories out of the man, or at least keep him company for a few minutes, until they were finished with the food. Oh, how he wished to spend more time with him, regardless of the fairytale appeal of his person. He was an accomplished sailor, like James himself - he hoped it would be enough to keep the conversation going, at least for a little while. Enough to get to know him better. Enough for James’ crush, and he knew it to be one, to subside. To learn enough about Francis to be able to let go, to be able to tell that the man will never reciprocate his feelings and James should focus his energy on something else, alone in his lighthouse until it was time to return to London.

⚓

It’s been over a month since he first spoke with James. The topic of Sophia Cracroft didn’t come up again, much to Francis’ relief, their conversations steering towards much safer topics. The Antarctic for him, Malta for James. Being fed up with the Admiralty. They dropped the topic of Barrow’s constant push for the Northwest Passage and the Franklin Expedition when James saw how that line of enquiry was affecting Francis, his fists tightly clenched and his face no doubt miles away from the easy, relaxed manner James was used to by then.

Fitzjames had a keen eye for detail, and became finely attuned to Francis’ moods very quickly, much to Francis’ dismay. It was almost unnerving, especially when it made Francis fret over whether the things he wished to hide, the amounts of affection he held for James, were just as easily readable to the man as everything else. James didn’t comment or say anything untoward, even when Francis sat sputtering for a good moment after James showed up for one of their now regular meals wearing what Francis assumed to be his Sunday best: a fetching navy suit, lavishly patterned vest, boots that had very little grip on the slippery rocks of the shore. Francis berated him for them, but couldn’t stop staring hungrily at the rest of the ensemble, wondering what the material would feel like under his hands, if James’ heat would be noticeable through all the layers. If he’d object to being slowly laid down on the rocks and undressed, devoured in place of whatever he brought in his little basket. If he took notice of Francis’ hungry stare, he didn’t show it.

That evening they sat together for a long while, James relieved from his job for a day by an assistant from the mainland so he could go and stock up his pantry for the winter, exchange pleasantries with the leaving farmers and shepherds, and attend church on the southern side of the island before it shut down for the next three months. He said that he rushed to Francis straight from there, having woefully underestimated the time he’d be expected to spend dealing with all of his affairs.

“I thought ship’s stock counting was tedious, Francis, but I’d take that over whatever _that_ was any day, mark my words,” he was complaining as he took the last bite of his pie, cleaned his fingers on a napkin, and took a sip of water from his mug to chase the food down with. They’ve quickly found out mugs were way more practical than glasses when faced with the wind from the sea and the unevenness of the ground beneath them.

Francis watched James closely, still completely transfixed by the image of him dressed in something else than dirty overalls and a thick jumper, the light of the setting sun bathing the other man in a warm glow. He looked like he belonged on a Turner painting, standing on deck of one of the ships, basking in the softness of the world around him, the ethereal glory. Francis couldn’t possibly compare to such astounding beauty.

“At least you won’t have to do that for another year,” he mused, looking out at the sea and hugging his tail to his chest. It was getting dark rather quickly now but the tide wouldn’t start rising for another hour. They had time.

He looked back at James when no further comments were forthcoming. That was unusual, as was James biting on his lower lip in earnest, looking almost guilty. Francis furrowed his brow, tilted his head in silent questioning, catching James' eye.

“I won’t be here next year.”

“What?”

He must have heard that wrong.

“The new lighthouse keeper will be coming in May, I am only to keep the light on until then.”

In that moment, Francis’ world crumbled, and James didn’t know. He _wouldn't_ know, unless Francis told him. He shifted closer, pretending that adjusting his heavy tail made him tilt so significantly to the side, their shoulders brushing, and oh, he could feel James’ warmth through the wool of his jacket now. The material pressed against his skin grounded him, even more so when James leaned into him, sighed deeply as his head listed to the side, the falling hair brushing against Francis' bare shoulder and sending a small shiver up his spine. He hasn't been this close to a human being in a long time, even longer than he's spent in his voluntary isolation.

“I am not actually a keeper, I thought that much was clear,” he admitted quietly. Giggled to himself. “I’m a fake, Francis.”

That’s not what Francis expected to hear. He wished dearly to look at James, see his expression. Maybe that would help him understand what in bloody hell the man was on about. Unfortunately for Francis, that would either mean losing the physical contact between them, or having his face incredibly close to James’, neither option particularly agreeable at present. He kept staring ahead at the sunset.

“What are you talking about, James?”

“I barely had any idea about the job before coming here, Charlewood secured the post for me when I have told him I needed to hide somewhere secluded for a while,” James’ voice washed over Francis, and he knew this was just the beginning of the story. He nodded, waiting for James to continue, didn’t dare move just yet lest the spell between them be broken.

“I was never the one to hide, you understand. A man like me will do amazing things to be seen, Francis.” He sighed, and Francis could tell he was gathering his courage to say whatever sat so heavily on his heart. “Do you recall the incident with Barrow I have mentioned before?”

Francis nodded again.

“I was found in a compromising position myself, even though George Barrow didn’t realise it at the time. I think he might still be unaware of how much he could hold over me. I was reckless, unaware of the consequences of my actions, and seeing Barrow at– ,” he cut himself off, shook his head. Francis was curious, but wouldn’t push for details, knowing that James won’t relinquish the secret. He was a man of his word.

“He made me realise what I was playing with. How close I was to losing everything, up to and including my life, in a manner way worse than being struck with a Chinese bullet.” James paused. Francis was beginning to grasp at the loose threads within his story, putting the puzzle pieces together. “I had to leave the Navy, at least for now, couldn’t compromise the esteem of my crew, everything else, not like this.”

James took a steadying breath. Francis could feel him shaking minutely against his shoulder, but he doubted it was from the quickly increasing cold.

“I’m sure they would be proud of you, James.”

“I’m not sure I am proud of myself.”

“ _I_ am proud of you,” came Francis’ easy reply. And he really was, both for how brave James was to remove himself from his post, despite his accomplishments, and for baring himself to Francis in such a way. Giving his life up to him, served on a silver platter. _Here, this is who I am. I trust you to not break me into a thousand pieces, now that you know._

James’ voice was small and quiet when he finally spoke up again.

“Thank you.”

Francis hummed, sought out James’ hand between them and squeezed gently, reassurance as much as solidarity.

“Would you like to hear how _I_ ended up here?”

He still wasn’t looking at James but he could feel the man nod, his soft hair rubbing against Francis’ cheek with the movement. Were he a stronger man, he would’ve turned his head just so, dropped a kiss to James’ crown. Francis swallowed hard, banishing such unruly thoughts. Even if James was inclined in that direction, it didn’t mean he was inclined towards _Francis._ He braced himself for what he was about to say. They were both coming clean tonight. It felt right. Welcome, even.

“Sophia rejected my _second_ proposal.”

It still hurt. He hasn’t said it out loud before, not like this: in no uncertain terms, leaving no room for discussion or misinterpretation of his words. Somehow, it was freeing. He wasn’t defined by his failure to meet her expectations, not anymore. He could show James his soft belly, prepare himself for a strike that wouldn’t come – not with James equally laid bare and vulnerable at his side.

James stirred against him, folded his legs to the side, nodded in understanding. It was all Francis needed for the rest of the words to come spilling from his mouth, finally free, like an overhanging face of an ice sheet finally breaking up from the rest of the mass and dropping into the ocean below.

He said it all, didn’t leave anything out: his drinking, poor decisions, being told he’s not fit for command, more drinking, slipping away into the sea one night and drunkenly drifting north until the cold and the stormy weather got to be too much, chased him back south through the Irish Sea, then even further when he realised he couldn't come home to Banbridge, not like this. Kept drifting this way and that, until he stumbled upon the seal colony he was with now. He was welcome to stay with them for as long as he wished, finally feeling like he belonged, even if he still longed for human touch, for someone to talk to. That’s when he spotted James, his curiosity and need for human contact getting the better of him. The rest, James knew.

They were bathing in moonlight now, the full moon shining bright, its reflections shifting on the waves, making the sea unspeakably beautiful. It was most likely the last night of clear skies before November rains finally took over.

Francis laid his tail in front of him, ran his free hand over the fur, just to have something to do. It was calming. James didn’t say anything the whole time, listening intently, the way he always did. His thumb was rubbing lightly against Francis’ fingers, soothing.

“The cottage has enough space for two.”

“Pardon?”

“You could move in, should you like to do so,” James said, lifting himself away from Francis’ side and sitting up properly so he could look him in the face, pin Francis' eyes with his own. He has pulled Francis’ hand with him, letting it rest over his thigh. Francis couldn’t look away from their interlaced fingers, his breath catching in his throat. James was being incredibly bold, sending signals more explicit than what Francis would ever expect from a man, at least based on his very limited experience. He couldn't say that he minded much, not with his heart beating as hard as it did, his body itching to get closer to James again.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to having permanent company,” James added, moonlight dancing in his dark eyes as they searched for something in Francis’ face. “I wouldn’t be sitting alone in the comfort of a home worrying my head off, knowing you’re down here, weathering the storms on your own. I’ve been told the winter gales can get bad here, Francis, enough to chase the seals far away. I don’t want to keep you away from them, but I would miss our talks dearly. Come up with me, even if just for tonight. Please.”

Francis shook his head, withdrew his hand from James’ grasp, as much as it pained him to do so. Petted at his tail self-consciously, noting how James' hand twitched towards him, almost as if he wanted to follow, brush his fingers through the thick fur, get acquianted with that part of Francis, untouched by anyone else until now, not even Sophia. Oh, how he longed for James to touch him, feel the soft warmth of his body. They could stay here, talking until the tide came in, exchanging secret smiles, James' hands smoothing over his tail, maybe in other places, too. He wouldn’t be able to scale the stairs without fully turning human, they both knew that. He tried to convince himself that this was why he should say no to James' offer, let him down gently. It would be the proper thing to do.

“I can’t,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as James that this was actually true.

“Why not? No one would even have to know that you were there,” James said, beseeching. “They’re gone, they’re all gone now, it’s just us, Francis.”

“I can’t, James!”

“I don’t understand what the issue is.” James pouted, indignant.

“I can't scale the stairs like this, and if I fully turn back I’ll be buck naked, that’s what’s the problem, James,” he spat, waving his hand in the air as if somehow that would help him make his point, a point he thought was clear already. James shouldn't be subjected to his imperfect and fully human form. He knew he was getting red in the face, his blasted complexion reacting to the smallest of strong emotions, as usual. Knowing that he was turning an unattractive, blotchy red only made him feel worse, even if most of the colour probably wasn’t visible in the dark.

He sighed, turning back towards the sea. Waited for the confirmation of his assumptions, for James to give up on trying to convince him on this idea he seemed so dead set on, for him to finally be fed up with Francis, especially after everything he's heard about him this evening. Everyone eventually was done with him: his family, Sophia, even Blanky at times. Ross didn’t seem to mind his foul moods and his moping, but he had a kid to take care of the last time Francis saw him, lady Ann temporarily indisposed, and that took enough energy out of him to not be bothered by much else. Francis saw it as both a blessing and a curse. It wasn’t long until he left London for Whitby, and then Whitby for the sea. Oh, bugger, he was already slipping into melancholy, reminiscing. He wished he had something strong to drink.

“Well then,” James said after what felt like an incredibly long time but most likely was only a couple of seconds. He stood up, towering over Francis and ostensibly patting at the seat of his trousers to clean them from some invisible dust. "We can do something about that, I believe.”

The plates and mugs were swiftly packed away, as were all the leftovers. He motioned at a confused Francis who was too stunned to do anything, urging him to get off the blanket.

“Am I to walk naked up to the lighthouse on my own, then? Or are you eager to carry three hundred pounds of seal up those rackety stairs?” Francis said jokingly to cover his poor mood, steel blue eyes trained on James. The man was shaking the blanket out, unperturbed by Francis’ piercing stare. He lifted the plaid material up in his outstretched arms, turning it this way and that, assessing it with a critical eye before facing Francis again, brows furrowed in thought.

“No,” he replied quietly, the intensity of his gaze pinning Francis in place.

James bit at his bottom lip, looked away, suddenly unsure. He knew himself, knew what he wanted, and right now it was Francis, even if the man was being uncharacteristically slow on the uptake. Perhaps James had to be even more forward. At least he was sure that Francis would do him no harm, judging by how affected he was by having James' hand on his, the way his body was always slightly leaning towards James whenever they met. 

Their hands finally touching fed the flame that was simmering within James for a while now. He wanted more. He wanted Francis around, somewhere way closer than the beach at the foot of the cliffs, not just when the other seals decided to rest on the island’s shores but whenever he and Francis felt like it. He wanted him taking up space at his dining table, not on the old blanket thrown over the exposed rocks during low tide. He wanted him in his life, as much as humanly possible, and finally admitting that specific notion to himself was almost startling. It scared him, how much he _wanted,_ after all those years of being left alone, drifting with no clear purpose, without need for anyone else in his life, never longing for anything more than friendship. It was so much different with Francis, and even though he didn't know why, he didn't mind in the slightest. He wanted him, and that was all that mattered.

But what if Francis didn't want the same? What if he was perfectly content with their current arrangement, and that's why he declined? What if he was reading the situation completely wrong?

"James?"

"Yes, right," he said, the sound shaking him out of his miserable train of thought, helping him focus on Francis again. A deep breath in, slow breath out. "Perhaps you'd be amenable to going up in a toga?" he offered with a shaky smile.

Francis blinked up at him. Leaned back onto his palms, tail lazily rolling from side to side. The waves lapped at the shore, ever closer - the tide was coming in. They didn’t have much time left before the incoming water would cut them off from the only way up the rocky cliffs.

"You want me to wrap myself up in this. Like, what, ham in a newspaper?" he asked, a little incredulous, but the words were soft, not meant to poke at James' logic in this, or at least he hoped they wouldn't be taken that way. He didn't want James' smile to disappear, but he was just too bloody scared of what awaited him at the top of the cliffs to be more agreeable, to easily go along with James' plan. 

James nodded slowly. It seemed like it took all of his willpower to look Francis in the eye.

They stared at each other, one of Francis' brows almost lifting off his face entirely with how high it rose, but he was smiling. _He's smiling,_ James thought, heart beating impossibly faster, now sure that his idea wasn't as preposterous as he already made himself think it was.

"Alright then," Francis acquiesced, nodding once and stretching his tail in front of himself. "Close your eyes."

James rushed to comply, squeezing his eyes shut. He could hear the sound of crunching gravel, a distant call of a seagull. Quiet steps. His cheeks and the tips of his ears turned bright red when Francis' fingers brushed his as the man took the offered blanket from him.

“You can look now.”

James blinked his eyes open. Francis had the seal fur thrown over his shoulders and has wrapped the blanket around his waist, fashioning a rather weirdly shaped skirt out of it. It looked like a particularly long and ill-fitting kilt, the way he had fastened it over his hips, and James sputtered in poorly contained laughter, the nervous energy finally finding a way to escape him. Francis furrowed his brows at him.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just that. Well." He shifted from foot to foot, appraising Francis with a steady gaze, mirth in his eyes, unable to contain his glee as Francis' brow furrowed further. "You look like you've put on your dad's kilt and didn't quite know how to tie the whole affair up, I must say."

"I'm Irish, not Scottish, you know?" Francis jibed but he was smiling again. He swayed his hips from side to side, testing the strength of his muscles no doubt, watching closely as James' eyes followed, the man captivated by the movement.

“I mean. Well. Yes, of course,” James stumbled out, tried his best to stop looking at Francis’ hips but that only made things worse as he got an eyeful of the man’s soft stomach, the hair there almost translucent in the moonlight, his chest rising rhythmically with every breath, his nipples like dark pebbles standing hard and proud against the vast expanse of that stocky torso. He thought he was used to seeing Francis' upper body by now, but somehow the sight of him standing there, fully human, still took his breath away. Francis' body was subtly different. Softer. With more give, should he apply pressure to his sides, push his fingers into the space where Francis' ribs gave way to his belly. No spots on his shoulders, matching the colour of his tail. No long whiskers on his face, either. Francis' Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, licked his lips, and James was done for.

Francis had the gall to give him a cheeky grin, the gap between his teeth on full display. _God,_ how James wished to kiss that smile off of his face, for Francis to allow his tongue to map the nooks and crannies of his mouth, to get well acquainted with those lips. It was hopeless, really. He turned away, picked up the picnic basket. Offered his arm to Francis, out of habit more than anything else, realising what he did when he felt a warm palm rest at his elbow, Francis steadying himself at James' side, perhaps still finding his footing after all the time he has spent without legs to stand on.

"Shall we?"

Francis nodded.

 _Once more unto the breach,_ James thought, and led them towards the cliff-face.

⚓

Francis sank into the warm water with a heavy sigh. He wasn’t the biggest fan of long baths, much more used to quickly swiping at himself with a wet cloth rather than leisurely submerging himself in a tub, but this was nice. Even more than nice. James had some very good ideas, and insisting on drawing a bath for Francis straight after they made their way up the cliff and into his house was his best one so far. A treat for braving all those slippery cold steps on his bare feet, James had said, and there was no arguing with him after that. They had almost toppled over at one point, Francis losing his footing in a spectacular display of uncoordinated flailing, James' lightning quick reflexes and cool head when faced with a life or death situation saving them both, even if now they were sporting growing bruises from falling onto the uneven steps. Francis supposed it was better than falling off the side of the cliff.

He could feel all aches and tightness in his muscles leaving him the lower he slumped into the metal tub, his head coming to rest on its edge, arms hanging out the sides and knees pushed up almost up to his nose. James left out a bar of soap and a towel for him, and Francis supposed he should get down to using them but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Not yet.

A thought of James coming back while he was still like this popped into his head. He swiped one hand at his chest, contemplative, giving into the fantasy. James would walk through the door, see him very much naked and blushing from the heat of the water, body languid and relaxed. Would he stare? Walk straight up to Francis, kneel by the tub, reverently run his fingers over Francis’ knee, then up his thigh, down into the water? Francis shivered, letting the image engulf him completely. James washing him gently, scrubbing at his chest and running his fingers through his hair before helping him rinse off, wrapping him in the old towel and rubbing him dry in _all_ places, feeling his hardening prick thicken under the coarse material.

He groaned, his own hand straying between his legs. There probably wasn’t enough time to do anything about his half-mast, not if he wanted to be decent when James came back with the clothes for him. He gave himself two half-hearted tugs and with another heavy sigh sat up and reached for the soap.

⚓

Francis was already dry and wrapped in the offered towel when James returned from his quest for some suitable clothes for the man, something that would fit his stocky frame. None of James’ own clothing would suit, and James found that to be particularly saddening as a tiny part of him would love to lay claim on Francis in this small way, mark him, show him to the world and say _look, he is mine, I dress and feed him, I will take care of him like no one else could, let him be happy now, please, let him be happy with me._

Francis didn't turn around as James entered the room, standing by the small bookcase next to the fireplace with his back to him, paging through one of James’ sketchbooks. James was relieved that it was the one with the landscapes, not the one with human – and decidedly naked – subjects, although if that were the case it would have been easier to do what James so longed for. He would love nothing more than to be able to walk up to Francis and wrap him in his arms, leave hot kisses down his exposed neck as he grinds his prick against Francis’ shapely ass, murmuring how they could try some of the things Francis has seen depicted on the pages of the book he was holding. As it stood, he cleared his throat and announced his presence from a respectable six feet away. 

“I’ve found those, although I’m not sure how well they will fit,” he said lightly, walking up to Francis and stopping by his elbow with a pair of trousers and a white shirt in his hands. “They belonged to the previous keeper, I believe he left them behind when he was relieved of his post to join his family on the mainland.”

“That’ll do, thank you,” Francis replied, closing the book in his hands. “I have, uhm, taken the liberty to look through your library.” He gestured to the two shelves behind him, filled to the brim with books James was planning to read through the winter, empty notebooks he wanted to fill with art. “Your drawings are really good, James,” Francis said quietly, ears bright pink as he took the offered outfit from him.

“Thank you,” James muttered, suddenly not knowing what else to say. He wanted to ask Francis to sit for him here and now so James could show him how good he really was, stop Francis from putting any clothes on whatsoever, look at him some more. Instead of doing all that he turned away politely to allow Francis to get dressed, busied himself with picking up the discarded picnic blanket from where it was draped over the back of the dining room chair. Francis’ seal pelt was right under the blanket. James didn't dare touch it, knowing of its significance. For Francis to just leave it like that seemed baffling to him.

“Francis?” he threw the question over his shoulder, not looking just in case the man still wasn’t fully dressed. His fingers tightened over the plaid blanket in his hands.

“Yes?”

“You left your, uhm, pelt,” he said, looking down at the soft hide covering the back of the wooden chair. 

Francis was quiet for a moment, and James wondered if he was afraid that James would snatch it, run and hide it away somewhere Francis wouldn’t be able to reach. Keep him on land, with him, forever.

“Can you hang it up on the coat rack?”

James was sure his eyes went comically wide at that, and was glad Francis couldn’t see his expression. He’d laugh, and James couldn’t blame him for it.

The blanket was quickly thrown over the sea chest by the door where it belonged, and James reached for the selkie pelt with reverent fingers. He could tell Francis was watching him intently as James cautiously took the fur in his hands.

“It’s so soft, Francis,” he murmured, unsure if the man could even hear him from the room next door. He was rubbing his fingers through the material in wide-eyed wonder, unable to believe that he was asked to handle such a precious thing, the trust Francis has put in him almost overwhelming. He walked to the rack while petting at the pelt, but finding that he had no qualms about parting with it if it meant he got to return to Francis’ side. He swiped his palm over the soft fur once more and headed back to Francis.

⚓

Francis looked disapprovingly at the offered clothes but took them anyway – can’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that. He made quick work of dressing up while James ostensibly busied himself with other things. He wondered if allowing James to handle his pelt was a good idea, but it felt right to tell him to do so. He dropped his gaze from James’ figure in the other room and focused on buttoning up the shirt instead. 

He was reassured when James returned to the room the same way he left, wonder in his eyes, Francis’ sealskin no doubt safely tucked away where Francis would be able to find it. His instinct told him to trust the man, and he was rarely wrong about things like that. There were people who knew, who touched his pelt with reverence and love before James did. Ross, Blanky. Sophia. 

He looked down at himself, a heavy sigh leaving his chest.

“Did you really think this would fit me?” he asked, incredulous, looking back up at James as the man crossed the room in a few long strides. 

True, the material was sitting almost snugly against his chest, the way it should, but that’s where the good points ended. He was swimming in too long sleeves, the shirt reaching well past his knees, the state of the trousers not much better. He wondered what kind of man the previous keeper was, to require such an outrageously tailored set of clothing.

“It’s a better fit than any of my clothes would be,” James blurted out, almost embarrassed, but somehow not apologetic, which Francis was sort of expecting from the man. He tilted his head, kept looking at James who seemed to be fixated on the hem of Francis’ shirt. _How curious._

James’ gaze was steady as he furrowed his brow and reached out, taking hold of one of the shirt sleeves and rolling it up Francis’ forearm, right up to his elbow, the gesture so unexpected it took them both by surprise, neither realising how close they were standing until James’ hands stilled over Francis’ bicep. The heat of his palms was seeping into Francis’ skin, almost tingling, making him wish there was nothing between them. Wondering what James’ calloused fingers would feel like on his bare skin. Whether he’d like to touch all of Francis, eat him up with his hands as much as he seemed to do with his eyes whenever he thought Francis wasn’t paying enough attention.

“I–”

“So–”

They looked at each other, James’ hands still holding onto the soft cotton of the shirt. 

“Go on,” Francis nodded slightly, lips twitching with a ghost of a grin. James took a steadying breath, moved to roll up the other sleeve once he deemed his work on the first one good enough, when the cuff was neated out and he was sure that the material wouldn’t slide back down and completely engulf Francis’ hands once again. This bloody shirt really was way too big for him.

“Well, I was thinking,” James said quietly, looking determinedly at the front of Francis’ shirt. The navy blue buttons must have suddenly seemed extremely interesting. Francis smiled in encouragement.

James’ next words were slow to leave his mouth. He threaded through them carefully, still not looking at Francis. He could feel James’ fingers tremble ever so slightly where they rested over his arm, shifting to straighten out Francis’ collar, hesitating only for a second before reaching down, tucking the shirt-tails under the waistband of his trousers for him. 

“Francis, would you… That is... “

“Spit it out, man,” Francis encouraged with a shy smile, gently placing his fingers on the side of James’ elbow, the contact sending a spark of electricity through them both. 

James nodded, licked his lips, his fingers tightening over the waistband of Francis’ trousers which he was loosely holding on to. His hands were still shaking, almost imperceptibly so, but the slight movement didn’t escape Francis’ attention – it was all he could focus on. He was doing his best to stay still himself, keep his fluttering heart safely tucked away in his chest, tame the feelings that threatened to get the better of him. He would go willingly if James were to pull on the waistband, drag him close to himself and– 

Francis had to stop that train of thought immediately, nip it in the bud before things got out of hand. Surely James wasn’t as deep into this as Francis was, maybe his hesitation stemmed from something else than having to actively restrain himself from devouring Francis right here and there like Francis wanted to do to him. Rip that fancy waistcoat off of James, push him up against a wall or press him into the cushions on the sofa, slide a hand under his shirt and map out the planes of his chest, free his no doubt very nice and pretty cock and lavish his attentions over it, oh Christ, it’s been so long since he’s been with anyone, and even longer since he was this filled up with such visceral need to have another body pressed against his. The things James did to him were as perplexing as they were pleasing and exciting.

His prick was already stirring to life, the impatient bastard.

James’ breath hitched when Francis’ hand shifted, landing on James', squeezing gently in encouragement. It was all he could do to keep himself in check, to stop himself from bodily tackling James to the floor and having his way with him. 

James finally met Francis’ gaze and held steady, swallowing once, stepping even closer. If Francis chose to lean forward, their chests would brush. 

“James?”

“Would you like to kiss me?”

Francis blinked, taken aback by such a straightforward question. No one before has phrased it for him in such a manner, if the question was posed at all. His mouth went dry as he stared blankly at James.

“You don’t have to say yes, we don’t have to do so if you do not wish it, perhaps I have read the situation wrong, my apologies, I could, well, that is to say,” James was babbling, slowly withdrawing from Francis. Grimacing because of his own poor phrasing, no doubt. Francis held fast to his hand then, rushed to reassure him.

“I would love to, James.”

James’ head snapped back up. Francis didn’t wait for a reply, leaning in slowly until they were sharing the same breath, noses brushing. James closed the distance with a whine, pulling on Francis’ waistband until they were flush against one another, from chest to thigh. 

Francis kissed him like a man drowning, like the kiss was the air he so dearly needed to survive. He had half a mind to worry about James being put out by the press of his already half-hard prick against James’ thigh, but then James slotted his leg between Francis’ and started rutting against his hip in earnest, and all thought of James being displeased with how affected Francis was flew out of his head.

The shirt James tucked under his waistband was loosened out by the same set of deft fingers, and Francis wasn’t far behind in pulling at James’ own clothes, undoing his waistcoat, helping him slide the soft material off his shoulders, exposing his chest to the heated air of the room. The fireplace was burning low, giving out a warm glow. He nuzzled at the hollow of James’ exposed throat, licked at the shadows splayed over his collarbones and slowly made his way to where James’ shoulder met his neck, sucked on the warm skin there. James gasped, the sound going straight to Francis’ cock, which got impossibly hard soon after their lips first met. James was a wonder, a beautiful creature full of easy smiles and rapt attention, and Francis wanted to make this good for him, make him whine like he did right before their lips met. Return the care that was bestowed upon him with such affection and understanding.

“Bed?” James asked, gulping audibly when Francis looked up at him, momentarily stopping in his quest of helping James relinquish all his clothes, despite how delectable he looked in them. Maybe next time he could ask James if he wouldn’t be opposed to getting buggered in his nice Sunday outfit. If there was a next time. Francis really hoped there would be, Christ, he was absolutely smitten with the man since they first met, his head spinning from how hard admitting this to himself hit him. He didn’t know James long, but he trusted the man with his life. James has seen him whole, human and seal, his mistakes and achievements, and still wanted to get close, to hold Francis in his arms, kiss him breathless. It was intoxicating.

James’ eyes burned as bright as the fire next to them, his breath coming in short puffs, hands roaming over Francis’ back as he held him steady against himself, unwilling to let go. Waiting for his answer.

“Oh God, yes,” came Francis’ hoarse reply.

⚓

James couldn’t recall the walk down the short corridor to his bedroom, nor how he ended up naked on his narrow bed with Francis, equally naked, hesitantly hovering over his hips, expression bashful as he asked if James had something to ease the way. Despite all of his previous experiences, James couldn’t for the life of him figure out what Francis meant, not until Francis sighed in exasperation and took a hold of James’ hand, moved it down from where it was resting over Francis’ waist, bypassing his fully hard prick – and what a prick it was! James was salivating just thinking about having it inside him – until their joined hands reached behind Francis’ balls, brushed over his opening, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

“ _Oh._ ” James’ breath left him in a whoosh, his cock giving a very interested twitch. This was unexpected, but certainly very welcome. “Francis, are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about you buggering me for a month now, James. I am more than sure,” came Francis’ reply, his steady hands brushing over James’ chest now, rubbing over his nipples until they peaked nicely. “Do you have anything?”

James let his head fall back onto the pillow, splayed one arm out towards his nightstand as his other hand kept touching Francis, rubbing in small circles over the ring of muscle at his fundament. He was so _warm_ there, relaxing slowly under James’ ministrations. 

“Bottom drawer, on the left,” he mumbled, watching intently as Francis stretched above him to reach over the side of the bed. It took very little for James to lift himself up on one elbow, his face in the perfect spot to lick at Francis’ nipple, making him fumble with the small tin of vaseline and drop it to the floor.

“Bugger!” he exclaimed, turning to James with a scowl. “James, warn me next time?” His words held no resentment and James chuckled as Francis bowed to give him a quick kiss. He got off of James to chase after the rolling tin, catching it before it lodged itself under the wardrobe. 

James was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to look at Francis’ plump bottom in all its glory as the man stalked after the runaway item, even if it meant James was bereft of his warmth for those few scant seconds it took him to grab the escaped vaseline. 

“Francis,” he said softly as the man returned to bed. “How would you like me?” he asked, running a hand down his flank, biting on his own lip to hold in the other questions that were currently burning him from the inside. _Have you done this before? Will I hurt you if we go down this way?_

Francis seemed to mull that over, tapping the closed tin over James’ chest lightly.

“On your back, to begin with,” he replied with a glint in his eye, finally opening the vaseline tub. James stopped him before Francis had a chance to get at the contents of the tin, plucking it out of his hands swiftly and laying back, silently urging Francis to climb on top of him.

“Let me. Please?”

Francis nodded, positioning himself over James, his face and chest turning even more red than they were before. James thought that the colour brought Francis’ freckles out nicely. He looked so lovely like this, flushed and breathing heavy, hard prick jutting up proudly, dripping precome onto James’ stomach.

James made quick work of opening Francis up, expertly sliding his fingers in and out of him, slicking them up further until he was satisfied and sure that Francis would be able to take him with minimum discomfort. For his part, Francis seemed like he was barely holding it together, his thighs shaking.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” James warned, grabbing himself in hand, working in tandem with Francis who was already lowering himself towards James’ cock, hands braced over James’ chest, fingernails no doubt leaving half circles where they dug into James’ skin.

“Me neither.”

They looked at each other. James chuckled. Francis smiled in return. Sank down, taking the crown of James’ prick into himself.

“Oh, fuck,” James gasped, back bowing off the bed, all of his currently limited mental faculties focused on not bucking up with his hips, driving his cock fully into the other man. It was _a lot_ , the pressure and heat of Francis driving him insane, and then Francis took a long breath and started moving again, taking all of James into himself in one smooth motion, sitting fully in his lap, knees splayed wide.

“Are you quite alright, James?” he asked, mischief clear in his voice as he ground down, groaned when James’ hands grabbed at his hips to keep him there.

“Never better,” came the easy reply, and James realised that he meant it, that it wasn’t just easy banter, not this time. He really felt the best he has ever had – here, with Francis above him, safe and sound in his bed, naked and open and full of life.

Francis leaned down, left a chaste kiss on his lips, and started moving in earnest. 

To his utter mortification and absolute embarrassment James was gone within seconds, shooting his load without even being able to warn Francis of his impending conclusion. Out of the two of them it seemed he was the one who was more surprised with this turn of events. Francis slowly stilled when James’ oversensitive prick made him hiss as it dragged against Francis’ walls. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t– You are– Ugh,” James closed his eyes, the incoherent words only adding to his humiliation. “I’m usually better than this.”

“You’re plenty good, James,” Francis rushed to reassure him, lifting himself off of James’ softening prick without batting an eye and splaying himself over James instead. They were chest to chest and James could feel the frantic beating of Francis’ heart against his. 

“I’m enjoying myself,” Francis added, languidly rocking his hips down, his hard dick digging into James’ soft belly. He kissed James soundly, sighing into his mouth when James kissed back, recovered enough of his brainpower to reach behind Francis, push the come dripping out of him back in with his fingers.

“ _Yes,_ James,” Francis moaned against his lips, squeezing on James’ digits.

“I have an idea.” James nuzzled at Francis’ cheek, his free hand pressing at Francis’ side until the man caught up with him and shifted sideways, arranged himself on his back in the spot previously occupied by James. 

“What are you doing?” Francis asked, curious rather than impatient. James has shimmied down the bed until his face was level with Francis’ crotch. He took one last longing look at the cock in front of him – fat, hard and dripping, made to be worshipped, to be slicked up and pushed inside James, over and over, until James was seeing stars. What Francis lacked in length he more than made up for in girth, and James was sure it would feel wonderful inside him.

He swallowed, dipped lower, hooked his arms under Francis’ knees and licked at his exposed hole before Francis could figure out what James was up to, enjoying the shout and a full-body shiver he received in response. 

“James, fuck!” Francis thrashed as James applied himself to his work, lapping and sucking eagerly until Francis was cleaned from his come, his hole spit-slick and shining in the lamplight.

He rested his cheek against Francis’ thigh, catching his breath.

“I want you inside me.”

Francis whined, hands grabbing at James’ shoulders and hauling him up the bed.

“Yes, James, let me,” he babbled, patting the bed frantically, no doubt searching for the tin of vaseline.

“Are you looking for this?” James smirked, waving the tin in the air before putting it down on the nightstand, straddling Francis’ hips. “No need.”

“What?” Francis’ brows furrowed and he tried to squirm away when James got a hold of his wonderfully thick prick. “James,” Francis growled; a warning.

“You should have paid more attention to my hands, Francis,” James said simply, smiling down at him as the lines of concern eased from Francis’ face. “Although I suppose you were otherwise preoccupied.” 

He nudged Francis’ prick against his slick and loose entrance, worked open with his own fingers while he was taking care of Francis’ hole. 

“Cheeky bastard,” Francis laughed and sat up, capturing James’ lips in a kiss just as James’ body opened up to welcome him inside, leaving no time for James to dwell on the meaning of the words. 

James was unable to take Francis as easily as Francis did him, that became clear to them both straight away. The sizable girth was almost too much for him, but oh how he wanted to fit it all in, told Francis as much, listened to the flood of gentle encouragement and praise spilling from his partner’s lips. James was panting, sweat dripping down his back, his own cock stirring back to life by the time he finally managed to take all of Francis. They both hissed as he settled himself fully in his lap.

“James, you’re doing so well,” Francis said, reverent, holding him close, leaving wet kisses over James’ chest, his shoulders. James whined, unable to move now that he sank all the way and was deliciously filled with Francis' hardness.

“Francis,” he moaned, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” Francis hummed, pushing a stray lock of hair from James' face, his hips shifting minutely as if he was holding himself back for James’ benefit. James whined, wanting nothing more than for Francis to wreck him, preferably as soon as possible.

“ _Francis,_ ” he repeated, more urgent this time. 

“What do you need, James?”

“Please, move,” he pleaded, squeezing his thighs around Francis, unable to say anything more. 

James Fitzjames, overwhelmed and rendered speechless by a nice cock pushed up his arse. That one was new, James had to admit. He was almost tempted to excuse it by Francis’ supernatural charm, but he was afraid that it was actually a very much human attraction that he was so stricken by. He sighed in contentment when Francis nodded; moaned as he was manhandled onto his back.

Francis didn’t hold himself back, rutting into James and pushing him up the bed with his movements, his thrusts quick and purposeful. He locked their lips together again, reached for James’ cock, and soon enough he was following James into his own climax as the man reached his peak again.

⚓

James was stunning. He was half asleep, sprawled naked on the bed, the flickering light of the lamp bathing him in a warm glow as Francis sat down next to him, gently cleaned him up with a wet cloth. His brow. Soft stomach. Pretty cock, nestled in a thatch of dark hair. James stirred when Francis lifted one of his knees up, swiped at his bottom with the wet cloth, washed away the evidence of their heated coupling.

“Come here,” James mumbled, reaching his arms out. Francis dropped the cloth to the floor and went down easily. He pressed himself against James’ body in the narrow bed, soaking up his warmth, basking in the gentle kisses bestowed upon his face. He was happy, the realisation slow but sure like an incoming tide.

“Was that to your liking?” James asked, voice pitched low as he pushed a stray strand of hair back from Francis’ forehead. If Francis didn’t already come he knew the sound would have been enough to get him going.

“More than I could have hoped for,” he admitted quietly, seeking out James’ hand with his own and holding on tight.

“I’m glad.” James smiled.

“Was it good for you, James?”

He thought he knew the answer, but he wanted to be sure. Hear it from James.

“Don’t be daft.” James scowled, ducked his head under Francis’ chin. “It was very satisfying, thank you very much,” he said, and Francis could feel his smile against his neck. “You have a most excellent cock, if you must know,” he added, pressing impossibly closer. Francis didn’t mind in the slightest. “I am quite in love with it, actually.”

“Oh, are you now?” Francis’ asked, hooking one leg over James’, giddy and relaxed.

“Yes,” James replied, emerging from his hiding spot under Francis’ jaw to look him in the eyes. “Perhaps even more so with the man it’s attached to.”

Francis suspected this might be the case but he didn’t dare get his hopes up. Having James put it out in the open was unexpected, brilliant, paralysing. His throat was tight, he was unable to reply, frozen in place like an icebound ship.

“I think I love you, Francis Crozier.” 

James was searching his face, hopeful and open, lips gently parted. Francis couldn’t be sure, but he thought that James was holding his breath as he waited for his answer.

“James Fitzjames,” Francis finally said. Licked his lips, pressed a hand to James’ side. He had to close his eyes, James’ piercing stare was too intense, he couldn’t possibly say it with the man looking at him like that. 

His thumb brushed against a patch of bumpy skin as he gently rubbed soothing circles over James’ ribs. He frowned, then remembered the story with the sniper, James barely making it out alive. James had three matching scars but he was healthy, warm, breathing. Squeezing at Francis’ hand with intent.

When he first met James, Francis had told himself he would stop running away from his problems. That he’ll be a stronger man, for himself and for others. Fit for command. Worthy of friendship. Perhaps even more than that. He had told himself that he will stop running away and hiding.

He opened his eyes. 

“I adore you.”

James beamed at him, and Francis' world fell into place.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you've enjoyed it! There's some [art to accompany the fic](https://twitter.com/brainyraccoons/status/1328089692122787840).
> 
> The timeline of this is very hand-wavey in regards to actual lives of JFJ and FRMC even though some events with well-known dates are referenced to within the fic, please bear with me on that. I’m a geographer, not a historian. The title was inspired by [Nightswimming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahJ6Kh8klM4) by R.E.M., even though I've listened mostly to the whole discography of Kings of Leon on loop while writing this. 
> 
> A huge THANK YOU to the mods of the exchange, ya'll are amazing human beings for putting this together and helping all of us with all the issues that cropped up along the way. Additional thanks to [caravaggiosbrushes](https://twitter.com/downeymore) and [MoonwalkingCrab](https://twitter.com/MoonwalkingCrab) for all the encouragement and helping me make sense of this. 
> 
> Come say hi to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/brainyraccoons/) or [tumblr](brainyraccoons.tumblr.com/).


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